And with the closing of the door, and its heavy wooden sound echoing through the royal audience chamber, the king found himself in blessed solitude.
He did not know what to do next; it was so seldom that he found himself all alone. He was uncomfortable standing there in the center of the great room, with no one telling him what to do next. So he began to pace from door to window and back again. At first he thought of nothing, just listened to the sound of his heels upon the polished stone floor; then he began to turn the problem over in his head: what must he do with William Wallace.
Then he heard the door opening. Philip was pacing toward the window when he heard the latch clattering and he could scarcely believe the sound. His normally even temperament began to erupt; he whirled and had already started shouting, “What is this? Did you not understand—“ when he saw her. “Isabella!”
“Greetings to you, great king!” The Princess of Wales, Philip of France’s niece, sank in a respectful curtsey, but her face was radiant, and the king himself was glowing with the unexpected joy of seeing her. He hurried to her, seized her hands, pulled her up, and kissed her cheeks.
“I had no idea you were coming!” he said, searching his scattered thoughts for the possibility that his aides could have mentioned such a thing, and he had failed to not it, as if that were possible.
“Nor did I, “ Isabella said.
“But how…?
“I came without sending word. Since France is my county, too, and I have my own French guards to escort me, it didn’t seem necessary. The only trouble I had was getting through this last door. You have some gentlemen out here who seemed to think that entry was quite impossible.”
The king threw back his head and laughed. “Impossible for everyone but you!” He loved this beautiful young woman who stood before him, the daughter of his youth. He had reared her in the customary way, with nursemaids and tutors and all the traditional remoteness of king to female child. But she had always stirred up in him feelings that had made painful her betrothal and marriage to a foreign prince. The sight of her now brought back memories of summer days in the country when no court counselors rained schemes and questions and advice upon his head, and he had time to watch lovely girls become women right before his eyes, strolling across flowered lawns and in and out of the shade when the young aristocrats of France visited one estate after another with no other purpose than to enjoy life and get to know their peers. Isabella had made him proud even then. She was never intimidated by him or anyone else; if she wished to speak, she spoke; if she wished to dance, she danced; if she wished to ride, she rode; and it was that spirit that made her more than beautiful and made him proud.
And look at her now! She had been traveling for days, and he could see that she was tired, but her eyes were keen, she was full of purpose.
“We’ll have food, wine,” he said and started toward the door to call his servants.
“In a little while,” she said. “We’ll visit at dinner if you can find the time to dine with me.”
“We’ll dine together every night. We’ll make a month of banquets!” But then the cloud of reality passed over his face. “That is, if you r visit is official, and we can behave with the open hospitality of diplomacy. If it unofficial, you are just as welcome.”
He did not add that too much formal attention paid to her, though she was his own daughter, could be a political embarrassment for them both. Obviously she knew that, to have come so quickly and quietly. The soldiers of France and England were battling each other, but both kings maintained the public pretense of keeping the conflict at arm’s length, blaming belligerent nobles with unruly private armies for eth clashes that took place in the constant struggle for territory and power. This was a kind of royal insurgence; the kings could negotiate without loss of face or capitulate without the actual loss of one or the other’s head.
“My visit is official,” Isabella said. “But it is not do be public.”
“Then come,” Philip said, leading her to the great table. “Come and sit down.” They settled into the deep chairs, Philip at the head of the huge expanse of polished plank, and Isabella at his right hand. He poured her wine from the flask in front of him. She nodded her thanks but did not drink.
“I have been sent,” she said. “We have heard in London that you have a… certain visitor.”
He was pouring a drink of wine for himself; he stopped before his cup was full and set the flask down.
“I do, yes. William Wallace.”
“You appear irritable.”
“No, it is not at you. I am unsettled that new travels so fast, especially to a court where I am — an adversary.”
“My father-in-law has many ears listening for work of this man who visits you. Is he…comfortable?”
“I believe so, yes. His room has blankets and a bed…”
“And bars?”
“Yes.”
“Then it is also true that he killed Bouchard?”
“It is true.”
“Bouchard was a pompous, cruel, evil ass.”
“Did you come to tell me what I already know?”
“Let us see if I can indeed tell you what you already know,” Isabella said. She paused to lick her lips, and Philip noticed that something about all this was making her nervous. Not his royal audience; she was his daughter, and would soon be a queen herself. And not his mission she’d been sent on; clearly she had already thought out what she wished to say. But something was making her mouth dry.
She said, “You have in custody a man of singular circumstance. He is not a kink, yet he is everything to his country. But he had fled that country and has come to you because your enemy is his enemy. He is alone and abandoned, but you, because you have met him, know that his strength does not depend on the number of those around him.”
“You have met him, too,” Philip broke in. “We heard rumors of your being sent to bribe him, but I wasn’t sure it was true until now.”
“I met him,” she said, going on quickly. “I brought him the king’s offer of wealth and titles, and he refused it all. Now he has come to you. It is obvious that he came of his own free will, for it is unlikely you could have sought him out yourself, in that the full power of the English throne was never able to root him out, even in Britain itself with huge sums of money offered as reward for his capture.”
“You are doing well so far, do go on.”
“I am no judge of military tactics, but anyone can judge the results of his leadership, achieving victories no one else thought possible. Apart fro his ability to inspire his followers, Wallace is indisputably a brilliant military strategist. He lost at Falkirk because he was betrayed. You know this. It is why you wished to use him. You did wish to use him, did you not?”
The king nodded, smiling at the keenness of her mind.
“You did. This caused Bouchard to be jealous. I know nothing of the fight itself, only that Bouchard was killed. But knowing Bouchard….. As well as Wallace,” She added almost reluctantly, “it is clear that Bouchard was the aggressor. Is this correct?”
“Bouchard force the fight—if you could call it that. He drew a dagger and threatened Wallace with it. Wallace ignored the dagger — as if he knew Bouchard lacked the will to use it. Or perhaps it was because Wallace cared nothing if he died. Whichever it was he reached up, snatched Bouchard by the hair, and snapped his neck with a single jerk. There were many witnesses in the tavern and all of them gave the same account.”
“Exactly so,” said the princess, who seemed to the king to have flushed when he confirmed the Scotsman’s innocence. “But still you have a problem. Bouchard was a relative. Even if most of our aristocrats despised him, even if his own family hated him, he was still a royal relative. For you to release the man who killed him — a foreigner, no less — would infuriate many of those who support you in your fragile alliance against Longshanks. But you will not execute Wallace, for you will not have the blood of an innocent man upon your soul. It vexes you even to have him in prison, but you can find no other alternative. Of course you could send him to Longshanks and even receive compensation for doing so.”